Claire glanced out the window at the graying sky. “Did you find her?” she whispered.
Marie shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “No, the trail was unclear, and we split up to track her, but we came too close to town to search any further. We won’t know what happened until the town wakes.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes. “Go to sleep, Claire.” Her voice filled with weariness. “These things will still be here to deal with in the morning, and we will meet with the pack a few nights from now to discuss what should be done.”
Chapter Thirteen
THE MOONLIGHT GLEAMED against her pale skin as she ran naked though the woods, celebrating. She’d confused all of them—led them on a wild goose chase until one by one they dropped away. Stupid packs with their stupid rules and stupid loyalties. None of them knew what it really meant to be a wolf. None of them knew how to treat humans like the playthings they really were.
She hadn’t intended to kill anyone tonight, but she was still so high from the chase. And that moron had been so eager to see what the noise was outside. Holding that gun like it would help him. She barked gleefully, the sound bouncing off the trees around her. His finger hadn’t even twitched on the trigger.
Now that she knew they were all fooled, it was time to make the next move—time to lure the one she’d grown to hate most into the trap that she had set so perfectly. To make it work, she just needed that greedy little man, Dr. Engle, to get angry enough to take matters into his own hands. And when he’d caught her enemy, put the blame of so many deaths on her head … well. She’d never have to worry about that particular wolf again.
Claire lay in bed, watching the pink dawn creep across the sky. There was no way she could go back to sleep—not after everything that had happened. When Claire heard Lisbeth banging around in the kitchen, she slid out of bed.
Lisbeth stood in front of the stove, scrambling a pan of tofu and peppers. At the kitchen table, Marie sat in front of a plate of limp bacon, her hand wrapped around an enormous mug of coffee. She stared at the television set with bleary eyes.
“Morning, Claire!” Lisbeth chirped. “You’re up early. Want some juice? I put some ginger in it today—it gives it a little extra zip, I think.” Lisbeth held out a pitcher of revolting-looking green sludge. The smell of wheatgrass and spinach hit Claire like a slap. Man, she’s really perky this morning. …
Claire shook her head and stumbled over to the coffeepot. She poured herself a huge mug full and dumped two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into it. Once the first sip had burned its way down her throat, the voice of the news anchor penetrated Claire’s exhaustion.
“… police said that the latest murder, happening so far to the north, indicates that the werewolf may have relocated to the denser woods north of Highway 34. The male victim was found outdoors, with a firearm nearby. Citizens are reminded not to leave their homes after dark for any reason. Suspicious activity should be reported to the police, or the Protective Action Council, headed by Dr. Charles Engle. They can be reached by calling 555-0194. Now, let’s turn to Angie for a check of the weather—Angie?”
Claire turned to look at her mother. The coffee sloshed against the side of her mug. The seule. She really was the one killing people, and she was still in the woods. The pack hadn’t caught her, and she’d killed that poor man. Maybe if they’d had more help—if I’d been there—maybe they would have been able to find her. She set down her coffee mug too hard on the counter.
“I don’t mind if you want to drink that poison, Claire, but for God’s sake, don’t spill it everywhere, ’kay?” Lisbeth dug a fork into her tofu.
Marie met Claire’s eyes and mouthed, “Later.”
*
“Hello?”
“Hey, Claire.” Matthew’s voice was quieter than usual.
“What’s wrong?” Her mind flashed to the party. They hadn’t really talked much in the days since then—maybe she’d been right. Maybe he’d been disappointed that she wasn’t exactly the social butterfly type.
He sighed. “It’s my dad.”
At least it’s not me. Damn, what made me think that, anyway? I must be the most narcissistic person on the planet.
“What about him?”